


Coping Mechanisms

by mariana_oconnor



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel 616, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon Compliant, Casual Sex, Flashbacks, Hawkeye is a mess, Hawkeye: Freefall (2020), In so much as I could make it so, M/M, No one is mentally healthy in this fic, Post-Freefall, References to children dying, Tales of Suspense: Hawkeye & The Winter Soldier (2017), Wall Sex, Winter Soldier: Second Chances (2018), Winterhawk Wonderland, and there isn't a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/pseuds/mariana_oconnor
Summary: After the events of Freefall, Clint Barton is exhausted, bruised and on everyone's Most Wanted list. Luckily, or unluckily, it's Bucky Barnes who ends up finding him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 14
Kudos: 125
Collections: Winterhawk Wonderland - 2020 edition!





	Coping Mechanisms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feathers_and_cigarettes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/gifts).



> For [feathers_and_cigarettes](https://feathers-and-cigarettes.tumblr.com/). I hope you enjoy it! You undoubtedly deserved better, and I really wanted to write more, but this is what happened. Sorry?
> 
> I have never written anything comic-canon compliant before. I have brushed into the comics side of the fandom and begged, borrowed and stolen plot points and characters from the comics to sprinkle into my fics with nary a regard for how closely they resemble their original counterparts, so this was... an adventure. It's a weird little fic set at a weird time in Clint's life. It's unlike anything I have written in this fandom before. Okay then.

**_PRESENT DAY - BED-STUY, NEW YORK_ **

  
  


Clint doesn’t have anywhere else to go, so he heads home.

Home where Bryce’s blood is still all over the basement.

Right.

He feels about a million years old. He’s beaten bloody and broken. His leg is clicking in a way he’s telling himself isn’t worrying. This has been the worst fucking month… week. He can’t even remember how long it’s been. However long it is, it feels longer.

Some people are stupid, huh?

Some people, for instance, hobble back from their literal crime spree, where they consorted with actual supervillains, and go straight home.

Right, yeah. Some people is him.

And some other people, naturally, are waiting for him.

He spots Spidey from a block away, perched on a rooftop in that knees-splayed-out crouch he loves so much, and Clint just feels the exhaustion roll back over him. He is not ready for that confrontation, not again. He ducks into the dark of an alley and leans against the wall, closing his eyes. So he can’t go home, that’s for sure. Only an idiot would head into Queens while Spider-man is out looking for them. Daredevil’s gonna be pissed, too, so Hell’s Kitchen is out, too. In fact, now he comes to think of it, there isn’t an inch of New York city that isn’t in the patrol of some hero or other.

Usually that would be a good thing - but today... He just wants a break. Just a little break before he’s arrested and court-martialled or whatever the fucking rule is for heroes these days. He shot Cap… well, Bullseye did, but it’s not like anyone knows that.

People really don’t like it when you shoot Captain America. Hell, Clint doesn’t like it when people shoot Steve. And now _he’s_ the one who did it - sort of.

He senses the other person in the alleyway too late. They’re already right next to him. Sneaky enough that they didn’t make a sound - not that his hearing aids are perfect and with the noise from the street and Clint’s preoccupation with just how screwed he is, maybe they didn’t sneak at all. It’s not Spidey, though. Spider-man doesn’t walk into alleyways when he can drop from above and say ‘boo’.

Well, it’s either a good guy, a bad guy, or a mugger. Clint’s hoping for the mugger, because honestly either of the others is just…

“So you robbed a bank,” a very familiar voice says and Clint groans, knocking his head back against the brick a couple of times for good measure. Of course it’s him. It had to be him. 

“Barnes,” he says, finally opening his eyes. “It’s not a good time. Can you come back in a few years?”

Bucky makes this exasperated hissing noise under his breath. It might be words, but it’s too hissy for Clint to make out. If it is words, Clint’s willing to bet they’re not ones Barnes would say in front of his mother, if she were still alive.

“Last time I took you at your word and left you to it, things didn’t turn out so well,” Bucky says. He crosses his arms over his chest, and Clint looks around aware that Bucky’s pretty much a package deal at the moment.

“Where’s Falcon?” he asks.

“Not here,” Bucky tells him, which is really uninformative. Clint glares at him.

“Are we really doing the head games right now?” Clint asks. 

“Given that you’ve been playing games with all of us this whole time, I think I’m owed a couple,” Bucky says. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

So they’re doing this. Okay, right. Time to get his game face on. He pushes back off the wall to standing, and stretches his arms out, rolling his shoulders and his neck to work through the worst of the aches.

“I stopped a bad guy,” he says with a shrug. “Isn’t that what we do?” Bucky makes a face like he’s sucking lemons.

“You robbed a bank,” Bucky points out.

“I only stole the bad guy’s money,” Clint points out.

“You were in costume,” Bucky points out.

“That was part of the plan.”

“It was a dumb plan,” Bucky tells him.

“Why are you even here?” Clint asks. “Gonna punch me for shooting Cap?”

“No.”

“Gonna kill me for shooting Cap?” Clint asks.

“No,” Bucky says again.

“Why the fuck not?”

“You didn’t shoot Steve,” Bucky says. He says it with absolute authority, as sure as the sky is blue, rain is wet and Bucky’s hair is greasy.

“That’s not what I heard,” Clint says. Bucky gives him an unimpressed look.

“You’re a dumbass, but you’re not that kind of asshole,” Bucky tells him.

Clint’s not so sure that’s true anymore. He feels like somewhere in the past few weeks he crossed a line. He’s not even sure where it was or when he crossed it, but something’s sitting uneasily in his brain, just a little shard that’s out of place and pushing everything else out of place as well.

“When Steve was gone and I had the shield,” Bucky says. “You were so pissed at the idea of anyone even trying to replace him you went for me.” Clint blinks at him.

“Yeah, and…”

“Anyone who thinks you’d shoot Steve is a moron.”

Clint eyes him askance. He’s pretty sure Bucky hates his guts half the time, and yet for some reason the guy seems to believe in him. Even after Clint has lied to his face.

“I could have shot Steve,” Clint says.

“Try to keep convincing yourself of that, pal. For what it’s worth, Steve doesn’t think it was you, either. In fact the whole community’s trying to work out whatever tangled mess you’ve gotten yourself into. From what I can tell, there have been, what? Four Clint Bartons hanging around recently. That’s a lot of you.”

“I’ve been told I’m an overachiever,” Clint says. Bucky makes a little huffing sound, like he doesn’t believe that shit.

So, Bucky’s not there to kill him. That’s good. Clint doesn’t really feel like fighting him right now. Not because he wouldn’t win - Bucky’s a slippery little bastard, but Clint could totally take him, totally - because honestly he just wants to crawl into his bed and pretend for a couple of hours that none of this ever happened.

That thought reminds him about Spidey. He peeks his head out around the edge of the alley, looking up. Yep, he still has the honour guard waiting for him. They’ve really rolled out the red carpet. He winces and turns back to Bucky, who still has his arms crossed, the metal one glinting menacingly. Clint’s not sure how Bucky manages to do that. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d be able to control - having metal glint menacingly, but he definitely does it.

“They’re not going away any time soon,” Bucky says.

“On a scale of one to sending me to superjail, how pissed are people?” Clint asks, scrubbing his hand over the back of his head only to realise that he’s still wearing his costume - the old one with the hood and everything. With all the costume changes he’d been doing recently, he’d forgotten about it. Weird how wearing a mask can be so normal you don’t even notice it.

“There had better be a good story behind this, Barton,” Bucky says, then he leans down and picks up a duffel bag Clint hadn’t even seen, and throws it into Clint’s stomach. It hits a massive bruise - what might be cracked ribs - because Bucky is an asshole, and Clint grabs it before it falls to the ground. “Get changed. There’s no way we can get past them with you dressed like that.”

Uh… Clint unzips the bag and looks down.

“Hey, I recognise these. These are my clothes,” he says, pulling the shirt out of the bag and staring at it in confusion, followed by a pair of purple striped boxers. “Did you go through my underwear drawer?”

“If that’s what you call the pile of laundry in the corner of your room,” Bucky says. “Your place is a mess.”

“Well, if I’d known you’d be breaking and entering, I’d have cleaned it up,” Clint says. “Do you prefer the places you burglarise to smell of air freshener or fresh bread?”

“Get changed,” Bucky says. Clint rolls his eyes, but starts to strip out of his uniform. Bucky watches him.

“Seriously?” Clint asks, looking at him, one leg half out of his costume. “You want a show?”

“I’m not taking my eyes off you until we’re somewhere safe,” Bucky says.

“Where the fuck am I going to run?” Clint asks. “Half the city is looking for me. I robbed a bank and shot Captain America!”

“You didn’t shoot Steve,” Bucky says. “And I didn’t say I was watching you to make sure you didn’t run away. Just get on with it, already. It’s not like I haven’t seen your bare ass before, Barton.”

Clint wiggles his eyebrows.

“Everyone’s seen your bare ass,” Bucky says.

“Slut shaming is a dick move, Barnes,” Clint tells him, wagging his finger. “What would Cap say?”

“Cap would say get your ass in gear and listen to Bucky, but he’s in hospital at the moment, so I’m gonna say get your fucking ass in gear and stop being an idiot for once in your fucking life, Barton.”

Clint pulls on the jeans Bucky brought him. They’re the old pair that’s a bit too snug in the thighs and he has to hop on one foot to pull the stiff denim up his legs.

Bucky’s still watching him, but what the hell. He’s right, it’s not the first time he’s seen Clint naked. But last time had been a lot more… reciprocated.

Last time it had been a better way to work things out of their system than beating each other up… again. But Bucky’s been a bit different since. They haven’t run into each other a lot, but Bucky’s been acting almost like he respects Clint’s opinion. It’s weird.

And now, with Bucky standing in front of him, helping him out when Clint doesn’t deserve shit, trusting him when Clint says he didn’t shoot Cap. He feels like a complete dick for lying to him about all of this in the first place.

“So, is this like a trap?” he asks, pulling his t-shirt over his head. “Like you’re lulling me into a false sense of security before you-”

“No,” Bucky says. Great. He’s back to monosyllables. This guy is just the life and soul. Clint would almost rather walk out there and deal with Spider-man, at least Spidey talks.

No, that’s a lie. That is definitely a lie.

“It’s not a trap,” Bucky says, seeming to realise that one word answers aren’t Clint’s idea of a good time.

“So what is it?” Clint asks.

“Tomorrow, you’re going to deal with this,” Bucky says.

“Tomorrow?” Clint asks.

“You look like shit,” Bucky tells him.

“Thanks, you always say the sweetest things! You know, if this superhero thing doesn’t work out for you, you should try your hand at writing gift cards: ‘Happy Birthday! You look like shit!’”

“You’re going to tell me everything that happened,” Bucky says.

“Yeah, no,” Clint tells him. Bucky’s arm flashes out, metal fingers wrapping around Clint’s wrist. They are barely touching him, but Clint knows they aren’t going anywhere. If Bucky wanted to tighten them, he could crush Clint’s bones. They both know that. Clint doesn’t think he _would_. But he could. The threat is there.

“I’m on your side,” Bucky says. Clint almost laughs at that, and Bucky’s face twists a little sourly. “You’re gonna explain it all to me - tomorrow morning. And then I’ll help you explain it to everyone else.”

Clint stares at him.

But what’s he got to lose, he supposes. Bucky’s face is firm and set and Clint thinks he’s being honest. He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Alright, sleepover,” Clint says, shrugging. “It’ll be like old times.”

The metal fingers on his wrist tighten just a fraction. An involuntary reaction, and Clint has a sudden flashback to Bucky’s fingers on his hips, tightening. Bucky’s breath against his neck, hot, wet, heavy. He shivers.

Bucky holds his gaze a second longer, then nods, clearly happy that Clint’s not going to run off. He releases his hold on Clint’s wrist and beckons him towards the other end of the alley.

“I have a place we can go.”

*

  
  


**_A WHILE AGO - MOTEL BOSS. TREMONT NEW YORK_ **

  
  


They shouldn’t be doing this. The mission is waiting and Bucky has to decode that journal. He doesn’t even really know how they ended up here, up against the wall, Clint’s legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist, Clint’s voice an unending litany of curse words and nonsense as Bucky…

There is a part of Bucky’s brain that never switches off. Not anymore. He doesn’t know if it ever did and he supposes it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s the part that takes over during missions and the part that keeps him alive. Perhaps Hydra put it into him, perhaps it was always there, perhaps he developed it since then. This detached part of his brain that is always watching and weighing things up.

Barton hadn’t shut up. He never shuts up. He has to voice his opinion on every little thing and Bucky had… snapped.

It had started almost as a fight, slamming Barton up against the wall, growling at him to shut up about missing fucking Dog Cops, hoping that whoever’s on the other side of that wall knows better than to call the cops on some loud shouting in a motel room. He could have strangled him right there and then, could have crushed his wind-pipe. But he doesn’t.

And Barton kept talking, right up until he’d lunged forwards and-

Bucky had thought he was going for a headbutt, but no. Barton’s mouth had smashed onto his for a brief, brutal second, teeth smashed against lips. It had been less a kiss and more an attack until Bucky ripped his head back and glared.

“I’m bored,” Barton said, like that was an answer to anything. “It doesn’t have to mean anything… just… fuck… I need _something_.”

Bucky should have told him to get lost, should have gone right back to what he was doing before. Should have just cut the wire on the TV so Barton couldn’t watch anything at all. He didn’t, though. Instead he…

Well, instead they ended up here. Barton’s pants a puddle on the floor, Bucky’s around his ankles, fucking like it’s going to help them somehow.

It feels like a release, in a lot of ways. It feels like relief. Bucky’s channelling all that frustration into every thrust, trying to make Clint just _shut up_. But he doesn’t, just keeps babbling nonsense about how much he likes Bucky’s dick - which is at least better than babbling how much he likes Dog Cops.

“Are you never quiet?” Bucky asks.

“If you wanted me to shut up, you stuck your dick in the wrong hole,” Clint says, so Bucky slams home just a little harder, punching the next words out of Clint’s mouth in a breathy moan.

He doesn’t hate Clint… Most of the time. He just… they don’t understand each other. They’re built in different ways, forged in different fires, broken in ways that don’t fit together… usually.

Right now it feels like they fit. It feels like they’re in the same place. And Bucky can see Barton just that bit more clearly.

He’s got a good heart. That’s the thing, isn’t it. He’s not a killer, not made for murder, not made for this game of cat and mouse. He could be - he has the raw talent under all that bravado and nonsense. And maybe that’s what frustrates Bucky the most - the wasted potential.

But is it really a waste?

He’s not made for murder, and he shouldn’t be. He’s soft in a way Bucky doesn’t have the privilege of being. And maybe Bucky’s just a little bit angry about that, because it doesn’t feel fair that Clint gets to keep that when he doesn’t even seem to care about any of it. 

He growls and renews his thrusts.

“Oh, fuck. You are way too good at this,” Clint says, gasping. “For a greasy little dude, you sure do know how to-” Bucky grapes at his hips - too hard, there will be bruises. Whatever the end of that sentence was, Bucky will never know.

This was a mistake.

He’s leaving his hand prints in bruises on Clint’s hips, making a mark that he hopes will face quickly. He hopes.

Clint lifts his head up off the wall, grinning broadly like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His face is flushed red, making his blue eyes vivid. His hair is plastered to his forehead by sweat. There’s a challenge in his eyes and Bucky can’t help rising to it, pulling a hand from Clint’s hip to wrap around his cock, twisting and sliding over the skin.

This was a mistake.

Clint’s mouth goes slack as he comes, his eyes clenched shut and Bucky grits his teeth, closing his eyes against the sight even as he chases his own orgasm desperately, trying to rid himself of that image even as it is burnt into his memory.

He comes and slumps forwards, allowing himself a moment to let the pleasure wash over him. Clint - Barton - Hawkeye… is breathing heavily against him, chest rising up and down in pants. Bucky can feel his heartbeat, strong and fast and steady and…

This was a mistake.

He pulls out, ties off the condom, throws it in the trash. He steps away, jaw tight.

“I’m taking the first shower,” he says.

“Didn’t know you even knew what those-” Clint is saying as Bucky shuts the flimsy door behind him and stares at his face in the mirror. He does not allow himself to think about what just happened. There is a mission to complete. Natasha to… stop? Avenge? Rescue? What just happened was unimportant and it will not happen again.

His shower is perfunctory. He dresses quickly before stepping outside again, and Clint steps past him into the room. He doesn’t look at the line of Clint’s body, at the muscles of his legs, that Bucky can still feel the echoes of against his sides. He doesn’t look at him at all, just heads over to the desk where Cady’s notebook still lies. There is work to do.

“You know, a classy guy would offer to buy me breakfast,” Clint says as he wanders out of the bathroom and throws himself back down on the bed.

“It’s night-time,” Bucky says.

“I really worked up an appetite, though,” Clint says, stretching his arms over his head. They pull up his shirt just enough that the darkening imprints of Bucky’s fingers can be seen.

Bucky throws a packet of chips at him, hitting Clint square in the nose, without looking his way… not directly.

“Perhaps these will keep you quiet,” he says.

They don’t. Barton talks with his mouth full, and makes the most obnoxious munching sounds. Somehow it’s easier to handle now, though, remembering the expression on his face and knowing that Bucky had… He takes a deep breath.

Bucky doesn’t look at Clint, doesn’t think about him, just dedicates himself to the notebook and the mission.

*

  
  


**_PRESENT DAY - BUCKY BARNES’ SAFE HOUSE_ **

  
  


Bucky’s safe house is not as Clint would have expected. For a start it’s… homey. There’s a throw blanket on the sofa, well-worn paperbacks on a small bookshelf. The pictures on the walls look like they were chosen deliberately, rather than the stock fields and flowers. It has personality. There’s even a cat tree… and a litter tray, though Clint can’t see a cat anywhere nearby.

Clint sits on the sofa, fingers petting at the soft fabric of the blanket, feeling incredibly awkward.

“So…” he starts. “How do you wanna pass the time, grandpa? Play pinochle?”

Bucky passes him a glass of something that turns out to be apple juice and sits down opposite him.

Sex would be a good way to avoid the conversation Clint can see coming. Sex would be a good way to take his mind off things. Like his now ex-girlfriend and… other stuff.

“What was the kid’s name?” Bucky asks.

Like that.

“What kid?” Clint asks, because playing stupid is clearly the best play here. Bucky’s face doesn’t so much as twitch, but somehow his level of intensity increases. That’s got to be a super power. Clint raises a hand, tilting it to the side as he gives Bucky his best casual look. 

“Look, we could have a very short conversation and end up yelling at each other. Or we could do something more interesting…” he leers. Clint is pretty good at leering. It’s a skill. He’s also very good in bed. He has reviews. There’s a website where people rate superheroes, so there’s actual documented evidence. Clint doesn’t think he’s actually slept with half the people who claim he has, but the ones he _has_ slept with are very complimentary. Which is all to say, he’s pretty safe in the knowledge that he can convince Bucky to forget this conversation with the power of his-

“I’m not going to sleep with you tonight,” Bucky says.

“Aw, come on, Barnes. We both know it was the best thing we’ve ever managed to do together. I blew your world.”

“You’re not in any place to be making good decisions right now,” Bucky says.

“You know me, bad decisions are my business,” Clint says. His face is fixed in what was a smile - was. It now feels more like a death mask.

“Clint,” Bucky says. His voice is quiet, just a hint of annoyance in the tone. “What was the kid’s name?”

“Seriously?” Clint asks. “You said we were going to talk tomorrow.” He’d been planning to sneak out in the middle of the night. “This is-”

“Clint.”

“Bryce, okay. His name was Bryce. He was seventeen years old and I got him killed. You wanna ask me how? You wanna tell me I’m an idiot?! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, BARNES?” Clint doesn’t realise he’s stood up until he’s towering over Bucky, who’s still sitting, face carefully blank, on the other sofa. He’s shouting without realising he’s shouting, the words coming out of his mouth remotely as though someone else is talking. 

“Did I ever tell you about R.J.?” Bucky asks. He’s not looking up at Clint, he’s looking down at the floor.

“Who the fuck is that? Your boyfriend?” Clint asks. He knows it’s not. He doesn’t know the name, but he’s got a good guess that R.J. was a kid and R.J. didn’t end well… He doesn’t care. Bucky doesn’t flinch.

“No…” Bucky says. “R.J. was a kid who got mixed up with the wrong people.” He looks up, right into Clint’s eyes, and Clint has never seen Bucky Barnes look that vulnerable before. The two of them don’t do that. They snipe at each other, they have each other’s back if they’re working together, and they hate each other. That’s the rule. They hate each other and they’re _not friends_. And they had sex that one time.

But it doesn’t count if it’s in a motel, right?

Except, maybe they are friends… because Bucky trusted him. Bucky still fucking trusts him, which is more than Spider-man does. And perhaps that just makes Bucky an idiot.

But Bucky’s not an idiot. He’s melodramatic and broody and hotter than he has any right to be, but he’s not an idiot.

And he’s sitting there looking up at Clint and he looks more _human_ than Clint has seen him before. More human than he did when they were having sex. Clint has seen the guy naked and orgasming, but still he wasn’t vulnerable then.

Clint sits down, next to Bucky now. Their legs press together, the two of them too big for the sofa. For all Clint remembers the way the muscles of Bucky’s thigh feel under his hands with nothing but skin against skin, it doesn’t feel erotic. There’s a strange kind of comfort. Perhaps it’s because Bucky has always been unimpressed by him. And yet somehow Bucky doesn’t seem to be here to pick over his corpse or give him a lecture.

It’s nice to not be alone. Maybe next time he should remember that. Clint lets out a laugh and Bucky looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Clint says. Bucky doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push. Kate would push. Natasha would push without him even knowing about it. Cap would be giving him the disappointed face and one of his speeches about teamwork. Bucky’s just… sitting there. Clint’s got no clue what’s going on in his mind. The man’s about as expressive as the terminator when he wants to be.

Clint sighs. For what it’s worth, Bucky has bought him a night before he has to face his mistakes. He doesn’t know exactly why, and he’s probably still going to sneak out in the middle of the night - which weirdly is made worse by the lack of sex. He doesn’t want to bond with Bucky over kids they failed to save, but he doesn’t want to do much of anything right now. Clint lied to the man, got him all caught up in his bloody messes. The least he can do is hear him out. So he leans back on the sofa, which is more comfortable than he’d thought, links his fingers behind his head and stares at the ceiling.

“Tell me about R.J.,” he says.

So Bucky does.


End file.
